


At More than Arm's Distance

by elistaire



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Horror, Creepy, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Prompt Fic, secondary mutations, this ends badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an explosion in the lab and Charles and Erik discover they have developed secondary mutations.  These mutations, however, are not necessarily the gifts that their first one's were.  Given sudden new limitations, Erik is driven to extraordinary, terrible lengths to try to resolve it.</p><p>Warnings for a creepy-as-hell, horror fic.</p><p><i><br/>“What happened?” he said, and waited.  He could feel Erik’s resolve built around him, and Charles was trying to put the pieces into order.  He remembered the explosion, and he remembered breakfast, with Sean’s aunt suddenly appearing, and then.... Charles took a deep breath and tried to be patient while Erik explained. </i></p><p><i>“I believe that Hank’s chemical solution triggered latent secondary mutations in us.  At least, that’s how Hank has expressed this theory,” Erik said. </i></p><p><i>“Secondary mutations?” Charles said in amazement.  “That’s wonderful!  What can you do?”</i></p><p><i>Erik flexed his hands in front of him.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	At More than Arm's Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally begun to fill this prompt: _Charles and Erik develop a soulbond with the usual tropes; pain when separated, sex to stabilize/consummate the bond, etc. The completion of said bond triggers their secondary mutations; in the comics they were telekinesis in Charles and telepathy in Erik. Author is free to choose whatever._ [Link to the Original Prompt](http://1stclass-kink.dreamwidth.org/1269.html?thread=18933#cmt18933)
> 
> And I failed utterly because there's no soulbond, although they do have an established relationship. There are secondary mutations. But certainly this is not a happy fic.

“Look out!” Erik shoved Charles aside at the same moment that he used his power to pull a metal table between them and the experiment about to explode.

They had been talking, waiting for Hank to return to the lab, and Erik had idly noticed the bubbling in the flask poised over the Bunsen burner. As he’d watched, all in the matter of moments, the liquid had grown darker and the bubbling angrier.

Now there was a flash, the cracking of glass, a sizzle of heat as the liquid hit the table and slid away to the floor, and the acrid odor of a chemical hanging heavy in the air.

Charles coughed and put his hand over his mouth just as Hank reached the door. “My experiment!” he wailed, and then he took in Erik and Charles crouched behind the table. “Get out of there!”

Erik flung Charles forward in his chair, and followed. Hank shut the door to the laboratory behind them.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Hank asked. “Was there any fire?” He turned horrified eyes to the door. “The burner was still on—“

Erik felt into the room for the burner with his power and twisted the control knob. “It’s off,” he said. “Charles?”

“Fine,” he wheezed. Charles was still coughing, but he otherwise looked unharmed. Erik’s own throat felt tight and scratchy.

“What was that liquid?” Erik demanded.

“A protein solution,” Hank said. “I was—I was looking for a cure--” He shook his head and looked down, away from Erik. Erik had never made it a secret that he thought Hank’s search for a cure was pure foolishness. “It wasn’t dangerous,” Hank continued. He wrinkled his nose. “Just smelly.”

“You--” Erik couldn’t finish his sentence as a fit of coughing dragged up through his lungs and into his throat.

“I think we both need some fresh air,” Charles said, his voice weak and reedy. “Hank? Stay and make sure there isn’t a fire?”

“Yes, of course….”

Erik accompanied Charles upstairs and outside. There was a late afternoon breeze, and after a few minutes of hacking and coughing, and spitting, Erik was sure he’d gotten Hank’s protein solution out of his lungs.

Charles’ hand curled around his own. “Thank you, Erik,” he said.

Erik swung his gaze down to Charles, unhappy to see that his face was still too pale, his eyes too bright, as if he had caught a fever. “For what?”

“Saving me, of course,” Charles said. “Saving us both. We could have been badly burned.”

Erik smirked. “Instead we just got nearly suffocated.”

Charles tugged on Erik’s hand and Erik willingly leaned down, and they kissed. The sharp tang of the chemical was still in his throat, and Charles’ lips were coated in it. Annoyance mixed with an edge of anger, that Charles had been exposed to whatever wretched chemical concoction that Hank had dreamed up.

 _You were exposed, too,_ Charles told him, worry and concern echoing there for Erik’s well being.

“We should shower,” Erik said. “Get this stuff off us. And destroy these clothes. Just in case.”

A wicked glint entered Charles’ eyes. “A shower, you say? Don’t mind if I do.” Charles pushed himself toward the house, and Erik stood stunned for a moment as an image flickered through his mind of sharing a shower with Charles. “Coming?” Charles asked, his voice entirely innocent.

Erik hastened to follow.

~~~

Charles made a face and put down his tea.

“No good?” Erik asked.

“A bit too sweet,” Charles admitted.

“I’ll get it right tomorrow,” Erik said. He took the teacup away, dumped the tea down the drain, and poured more tea into it from the pot, then set it and the sugar and milk down in front of Charles. “Show me again.”

Charles had to struggle to keep the laughing expression of his face while he once again showed Erik how he liked his tea. “You know, I’m perfectly capable of sugaring my own,” he said. Charles hadn’t confirmed it, but he suspected that perhaps Erik was teasing him about how sweet he liked his tea. Erik seemed to regularly over-sugar it.

“Someday I’ll want to bring you breakfast in bed,” Erik said. “I’ll need to practice to get it perfect.” He pointed to Charles’ head and then his own. “I can’t cheat like you do.”

“I don’t cheat!” Charles protested. “Okay, perhaps a little. But it isn’t like I’m searching. It’s just…I can tell by looking at a person how they take their tea. Or coffee.”

“Coffee,” Erik mock-groaned. “I haven’t yet mastered the art of doctoring your tea. Starting on coffee will be years away. Years. Perhaps decades.”

Charles sipped his tea and hid his smile. Yes, Erik must definitely be putting him on about the tea.

The hinges on the door to the kitchen squeaked and Sean came into the room looking half-awake. He rubbed at his eyes. “Morning,” he said, and gave Charles a half-hearted whap to the back of the shoulder. “Morning, Prof,” he yawned.

“Good morning, Sean,” Charles said and then sucked in a breath. “And who is our visitor?”

“Visitor?” Sean asked.

Erik whirled around from the counter, hands up. “Who?” he asked.

Charles frowned. There was a woman standing right behind Sean. She’d come in with him. She wasn’t really that old—perhaps in her forties. A few strands of grey threaded her dark-auburn hair, but her face still had the smoothness of youth, excepting worry lines near her eyes and framing her mouth.

“Cecelia,” the woman said. “Pleased to meet you.” She had a light, beautiful Irish accent. “I’m Sean’s aunt.”

“Cecelia,” Charles said, and he heard Sean squawk. “Welcome. Did Sean invite you? I do apologize that I didn’t know you were coming.”

Erik’s hand descended heavily on Charles’ shoulder. “There’s no one there, Charles,” he said in a low voice.

Charles’ attention flickered to Erik, and he could read the concern in his face even if he wasn’t being buffeted by the emotion roiling off him. Across the room Sean was wide awake, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

“Look through me,” Erik said. “You’re talking to thin air. Is it another telepath?”

Charles lifted a finger to his temple, and looked. From Erik’s perspective there was no one. For good measure, he took a quick peek through Sean’s eyes, and again, the air was empty. He scanned for a moment, but there was no other telepath, no tell-tale psychic energy that indicated another mutant was doing something. He put his hand in his lap.

“Cecelia, excuse me for a moment, please?” he asked.

Cecelia smiled at him. “Of course.”

Charles turned to Sean. “You have an Aunt Cecelia?”

Sean nodded, eyes still wide.

Charles had a sinking feeling. “Is she still alive?”

Sean shook his head.

Beside him, Charles could feel Erik tense. Nothing made Erik more nervous than threats he could not see or feel, or deal with either by his physical cunning or by throwing his magnificent mutant ability at it. Charles patted Erik’s hand, which was still resting on his shoulder. “We’re safe, I think,” he murmured. To Sean, he asked, “What can you tell me about your aunt?”

“My ma’s younger sister,” he said. “She came over here when I and my brothers and sisters were little. She looked after us while we were growing up.”

“And she died young?” Charles asked.

Sean nodded. “Cancer. She couldn’t have children, so she took care of us. Of me.” He looked around. “She’s here? Aunt Cece?”

Cecelia beamed across the room at Sean. “He’s grown up so fine, don’t you think?” she asked Charles. “I do worry about him. Too thin. He needs to eat more. And find a lovely lass.” She clucked her tongue. “I didn’t like that last one. She wasn’t proper.”

“Extraordinary,” Charles said. “Cecelia, are you always with Sean?”

“Of course,” she said. “He needs looking after.” She frowned a bit. “Just like your young man has his mentor, there. And you’ve got your father.”

“Mentor?” Charles turned to look up at Erik and realized there was a dark shape behind him, and he sucked in air. His hands suddenly trembling he pushed away from the table. “Erik, behind you!” he said. Erik wheeled around, and Charles scrambled with his mind for purchase, for something, but the man was blank and empty…ghostly.

“What? Charles, who is it?” Erik demanded. A knife flew to his hand and he stood glaring at the space in front of him.

“Shaw,” Charles whispered. Things were clicking into place. Sean had touched him. Erik had touched him.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to notice me,” Shaw said, swaggering around the kitchen. Erik remained staring at the space long after Shaw had moved.

Charles followed him with his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “You’re dead.”

“And she’s not?” Shaw thumbed at Cecelia. He raised his chin defiantly and his eyes slid over to Erik. “Just looking after my little creation.” He walked forward and reached out to touch Charles, but his fingers slid icily through, and all Charles felt was a sudden nausea and chill.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, and wheeled back.

“Charles?” Erik asked, highly anxious, adrenaline-laced. “Charles! Tell me what’s happening!”

“Interesting,” Shaw said, looking down at his hand. “Almost felt something there. Let’s try again.” He lunged forward, plunging his hand toward Charles’ head, and Charles’ vision blacked out and he was falling—

~~~

Erik watched as Charles slumped in his chair. He glanced to Sean, who looked as if he were about to vomit. Erik reached out and the door swung open, he pushed Charles’ chair through. “Let’s grab some air,” he said. “You--” he pointed to Sean “—get McCoy up here now.” Hank was the closest thing they had to a doctor. As far as what had just happened, Erik would bet money Charles would make sense of it once he woke up. Whatever it was, it caused a sick, twisted feeling in his gut. Charles was seeing specters. And one of them hadn’t been very nice.

Erik wheeled Charles through the hallway and the foyer and outside to the front area, and waited for Sean.

“Charles?” Erik crouched down beside him, feeling for a pulse. It was steady, and Erik was grateful for that.

He closed his eyes for a moment. The panic that had nearly overcome him in the kitchen was safely locked away inside him, and he released a little of it now, letting himself breathe it away until he felt steady again. Erik had faced far worse things, and triumphed, or been beaten down, only to doggedly drag himself forward again, but where Charles was concerned, he had only a weak spot. It would be the death of him, he knew, and yet he would no sooner give up Charles than he would his own life. Erik opened his eyes and felt at Charles’ forehead, and brushed at his hair. Charles remained quiet and motionless, and it brought a lump to Erik’s throat that was not easily swallowed down. “I will get us through this,” he promised.

Hank and Sean appeared at the front door and came hurrying over. Hank had a stethoscope looped around his neck and he quickly went to work. Sean hovered in the background.

“How is he?” Erik asked, watching Hank intently.

“Blood pressure is a little low,” Hank said, “but he’s doing okay otherwise. What happened?” He glanced to Sean. “Sean wasn’t making a lot of sense.”

“We don’t know,” Erik said, trying to keep from grinding his teeth. “Everything was fine, and then Charles started to see things. I don’t know if they were real or illusions, or all in his head, or another telepath. He thought he could see Sean’s dead aunt, and then… someone else who frightened him. _Shaw,_ ” he spit the name with venom. “It looked like he might have been attacked, and then he passed out.”

“Seeing ghosts?” Hank asked. “Unusual. Could be some kind of psychic rebound.” He rubbed at his head, thinking. “Maybe a psychic attack?”

Erik turned to glare at Sean. “Sean said he aunt really existed, and had died.”

“Interesting,” Hank said. He put a paw on Charles’ forehead. “Of course, with Charles, it could be that he pulled up those memories _from_ Sean. From you.”

Erik turned to glare at Hank, anger mounting in him, that Hank had no answers, that he had no answers himself, and Charles was still _unconscious_ and—

Bam!

Sean and Hank turned their heads to see the outside lamppost implode on itself. The noise startled two birds out of a nearby bush, each bursting forth haphazardly. One made the sharp angle up the side of the mansion and the other hit the glass window with enough force that Erik was surprised the window didn’t shatter.

“Erik--” Hank said.

But Erik was staring at the bird. It had rebounded off the window and was only a few feet from him, lying motionless on the ground, and that same feeling in him that he had for metal, he had for the bird. But birds didn’t have metal in them.

Erik ignored Hank and crouched over the bird. It was broken inside, and Erik hovered a hand over the bird. It was a small bird, sleek, and grey-brownish, and very soft. He could feel the bones and flesh, and the trauma, as he could with metal, and Erik reached out and cupped the bird in his hands. He frowned at it, and concentrated. He could…knit it together. Inside the bird, the torn flesh rearranged, became whole, functioning again.

The bird opened its eyes, and blinked. It gathered itself and burst into a frenzy of beating wings, and escaped Erik’s hands.

“Wow,” said Sean, and Erik realized that Hank and Sean were hovering over his shoulder. “Did you just heal that bird?”

“Yes,” Erik said, and he stood up, and looked back to where Charles was still slumped in his chair. The dots were aligning inside his head, and for a moment, Erik pondered the various check-marks and what-ifs and maybes until he’d puzzled the evidence into a whole, and had a firm theory set in his mind. “Hank?”

“Yes?”

“Exactly what the hell was in that exploding solution of yours?”

~~~

Charles woke in his own bed. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and he was extremely comfortable. He shouldn’t have slept in so late. There were many things to be done, and training and teaching to accomplish. Plus, Charles was a bit sad. Usually Erik woke him when he got up, and mornings between them were an opportunity to touch and hold, and to ground themselves in each other, ready for a day often spent apart with different tasks. Sleeping in and waking up alone was never as nice as waking up with Erik.

“Erik?” he asked, looking around the room. _Erik?_

Erik opened the bedroom door and smiled down on him. “You had us all worried.”

Charles frowned. He dredged up the memory of the morning, Sean’s aunt, and _Shaw_ come to life again, and he gasped. “What happened? Is anyone hurt? Did he attack us?” Charles pushed himself up in bed. “Is he still here?”

Erik made soothing motions with his hands, but didn’t touch Charles. “Everyone is safe.”

“But, I saw—“

“It’s over,” Erik said. “But we need to discuss something.”

Charles pushed himself up into a sitting position. “This is serious. What’s happened?”

Erik sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been talking with Hank. I believe something happened during the explosion two days ago.”

“Two days!”

“You’ve been asleep nearly an entire day.”

Charles shuddered. “What happened?” he said, and waited. He could feel Erik’s resolve built around him, and Charles was trying to put the pieces into order. He remembered the explosion, and he remembered breakfast, with Sean’s aunt suddenly appearing, and then Shaw…. Charles took a deep breath and tried to be patient while Erik explained.

“I believe that Hank’s chemical solution triggered latent secondary mutations in us. At least, that’s how Hank has expressed this theory,” Erik said.

“Secondary mutations?” Charles said in amazement. “That’s wonderful! What can you do?”

Erik flexed his hands in front of him. “Heal things,” he said, a bit in awe as he stared down at his hands. “What I feel for metal, I can feel for bones and flesh. I can just command it.”

“How perfect!” Charles said, and he reached out to touch Erik, and frowned when Erik leaned away. “Erik?”

“I can also break things. Heal or harm,” Erik said. “And I don’t think you want to touch me.”

“Oh, Erik,” Charles said, thinking of his new ability. “Is it difficult to control? I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. We’ll work together until you’ve mastered it, I promise.”

“That’s not it,” Erik said, and looked extremely pained.

“Then what is it?”

“Yesterday, in the kitchen, when you saw Sean’s aunt, it was after he’d touched you. And then me….” Erik shook his head. “While you’ve recovered, I’ve been thinking about everything, and I’ve made some assumptions about what happened. I wanted to try an experiment, but not with me. I have…too many demons in my past.”

Charles was silent for a moment as he digested the information. He had been tumbling the kitchen incident around in his head since he’d woken up, feeling warm and secure, and able to look at it from a distance. He’d almost convinced himself that the entire thing had been a hiccup of his own powers, that’d he brought up the ghostly beings from the dregs of Sean and Erik’s minds. “Of course.”

“Hank’s outside, in the hallway. Hold on.” Erik gestured at the door and it swung open, and Hank came through a moment later.

“How’re you feeling?” Hank asked, hovering, a concerned expression flitting on his face. “You should eat something,” he suggested.

“I’ve never felt better. Really. Let’s do this, and then I’ll eat,” Charles told him. He glanced to Erik. “Now what?”

“Touch and see what happens.”

Feeling slightly ridiculous, Charles held out his hand and, with a glance of worry to Erik, Hank took it after a long pause. “Anything?” Hank asked.

Charles shook his head, then widened his eyes in surprise. “Um, hello?” he asked.

There was a little boy suddenly sitting on the bed next to Erik, swinging his legs back and forth. “Hi!” the boy said. He looked around. “You can see me?”

“Yes, I can see you. My name is Charles, what’s yours?”

“Mikey,” said the little boy. He looked to be about eight or nine, and his face broke into a huge grin. “Are you friends with Henry, too?” He pointed at himself with a thumb. “We’re _best friends_ ,” he said proudly. “We’re _blood brothers_.”

Charles nodded solemnly. “I am indeed friends with Henry. That’s most important, to be blood brothers.”

Mikey nodded. “We fell out of tree and I skinned my knee and he cut his arm, and that’s when we did it. We were trying to make a tree house.” He sighed. “We never did finish making the tree house.”

Charles said, “Tree houses are marvelous. I always wanted one, but my parents were afraid I’d get hurt.”

Mikey made a face. “Parents,” he said. “They always tell you no, no, no.”

Charles looked to Erik and Hank. “Do you see him?”

They both shook their heads. Charles held up a finger to his temple. “Now?”

Hank gave a squawk of surprise. “Mikey!” he said.

Mikey jumped off the bed and ran to Hank, trying to hug him, but going straight through him. “Henry!” he said. “I thought you were mad at me!”

“No, no. Never.” Hank glanced up at Charles and then back to Mikey. “Cross my heart.”

Erik slid closer to Charles, but didn’t touch him. “Can you turn it off?” he asked quietly.

Charles concentrated, but the usual off-switches that he used did nothing. He fumbled around Mikey, but his purchase was slippery, and it was like trying to capture smoke in his hands. “No. Not yet. I can’t quite figure out how to--”

“Hank?” Erik murmured softly. “Can you take Mikey out of the room?”

Hank gave Erik a quick nod. “Come with me, Mikey?” he asked, and motioned to the door. “It’s like a game.”

“Okay,” Mikey said, and obediently followed Hank to the door. “I’m glad you’re talking to me again,” he said. “But when did you get so big?”

Hank closed the door.

Charles pulled his hand away from his temple. “Ghosts?” he asked. “I can see ghosts?”

“They appear to be connected with the individual that touches you,” Erik said.

Hank opened the door. “Is he still there?”

Charles shook his head. “No. At least, I don’t see him now.”

“He faded away as soon as I shut the door,” Hank said, wistfully.

“Who was he?” Charles asked.

“Mike Corin. A friend I had in school. He died in a car accident when we were nine.” Hank looked sad. “We’d been friends since even the first day we met in school. I didn’t realize….”

Erik looked to Charles. “Our own ghosts, haunting us?” he asked.

Charles shook his head. “I don’t think it’s quite like that. I get the impression more that it’s their attention that follows a person, not really an integrated personality, and that they just sort of solidify for me when I touch them. Like…like how objects will sometimes hold psychic energy, memories imbued onto them. Psychic residue, of a sort.”

“But still ghosts,” Erik insisted.

“ _Yes_ ,” Charles admitted. “Ghosts.”

In the doorway, Hank looked supremely unhappy. “So every time you touch someone, you pull up a ghost that’s somehow involved in their lives?”

Charles eyes filled with unshed tears as he looked at Erik. The enormity of it had started to dawn on him. If he touched Erik, he’d see Shaw again. Every time. “I’ll learn to control it,” he whispered. “I learned to control my telepathy. I can control this.”

“How many do you see?” Erik asked, his voice rough and uneven, “When you touch me, who do you _see_? Is it only Shaw? Or are there others?”

Charles shook his head. “Just one. I only see one.”

Erik’s expression twitched, and Charles knew he had to be thinking of all the ghosts along his life. The others—Hank, Sean, Alex—were young yet, and had relatively quiet backgrounds. But Erik, his life was littered with corpses. But wasn’t Shaw the worst? For Erik, Shaw was the embodiment of evil, of the bogeyman larger than life, and more real and terrifying.

“I will learn to control this,” Charles promised.

Erik’s expression turned stormy and he stood up. He pointed to Hank. “Undo this. You get down into that forsaken laboratory of yours, and undo this. Now!”

Hank nodded, gave Charles a look, and vanished into the hallway.

“Erik--”

Erik clenched and unclenched his hands. “I can’t touch you, Charles,” he gritted out. “Or my nightmares will come to life.” He looked entirely stricken and Charles felt as if he’d been stabbed deep in the chest.

~~~

Three weeks.

Erik stared at Charles over breakfast. He clenched and unclenched his hands, a physical act that was becoming second nature to him. In front of him, his coffee slowly turned cold and his eggs congealed, and Erik couldn’t have cared less.

Charles picked at the eggs in front of him. “I have another training session with Hank later today. I almost got Mikey to dissipate the other day. Sort of.” He sighed, and Erik knew that he was entirely fabricating any sort of advancement in his new-found abilities. Charles had been working nearly non-stop to master his new ability, and there had been no progress to note.

Neither had Hank had any success in the laboratory in developing a solution to the problem.

Afraid to accidentally touch Charles in the night, Erik had moved out of the bedroom. He stared up into the darkness at night, bereft even of the slow even breathing of Charles sleeping, and he ached for the touch of him, the pulse of that dear heart beneath his fingertips.

He’d accidentally touched him once so far. A slip—unintentional and momentary—and Erik had seen the horror reflected in Charles’ eyes as his demons had materialized, and then tormented him, before Erik could run as far and fast away as he’d been able. He knew who Charles saw, and it galled Erik that the monster still existed, even so briefly.

Erik clenched and unclenched his hands. He could heal now. He’d been practicing. He’d even gone into the city, in the middle of the night, in to a hospital. Tested his limits, and found them as extraordinary as his affinity for magnetism. If he could touch Charles, he could heal him, and yet that would expose Charles to the danger of Shaw attacking him again. Erik wouldn’t allow that. So, they remained in a stalemate.

~~~

Nine weeks.

Through the window in his office, Charles watched Erik training out in the yard. Metal flew through the air, arcing in a choreographed ballet of movement that Erik commanded with but the barest flick of a finger, or a twitch of attention.

Charles sighed. It had taken years for Erik to master his gift. It had taken Charles years to master his own telepathy.

It might take years to begin to control this newest facet of mutation for himself. Except he didn’t want to waste years in the pursuit, all the while having to keep Erik even farther away than arm’s distance. It hurt more each day, to see and hear, to be able to caress with his mind, but not with his fingers.

Charles suspected he was slowly gaining bats in his belfry. Everything was becoming a little bit skewed.

“Charles?” Raven called behind him. “Sean says he’s ready for you, if you want to try again with Aunt Cecelia.”

 

~~~

Fifteen weeks.

Erik was down in the laboratory with Hank. “You must have something more to go on,” he said. Desperation was clawing at his insides, turning the world into ugly colors. The less hope he had, the worse it became.

“Maybe a few more things but, really I’ve exhausted almost all my ideas,” Hank said, not looking at him. He fiddled with a few items on his bench top, moving an Erlenmeyer flask to the side, and scratching a quick note with a pencil. “I don’t think there’s any way to undo it,” Hank admitted, and Erik could practically taste the note of failure in his voice. It stung the back of his throat and threatened to bring up bile.

“Not good enough,” Erik told him.

~~~

Twenty one weeks.

“And then we could go fishing!” Mikey said. He looked over at Hank with a gleaming face. “Remember when we went before, and you caught an eel? It wasn’t nearly half as slimy as I thought it’d be. Remember that?”

Hank nodded. “I remember.” He laughed. “And your dad caught a tiny little fish, no bigger than his thumb!”

Mickey doubled over.

Charles pushed his fingers into his temple even harder and tried everything he could think of to make Mikey vanish at his command.

Mikey just kept laughing.

~~~

Twenty four weeks.

Erik had a new plan.

He left the mansion while Charles was asleep, in the dawn hours of the morning. It was better this way. At least he would be able to start the mission without Charles knowing. This mission seemed all but impossible, and even if he succeeded, Erik did not know what the ultimate outcome would be. He only knew that he had to try, to make the attempt, that nothing else could be as terrible as the way things lay at the moment.

“Azazel,” he said to his companion. “I owe you a great debt.”

Azazel just gave him a deep nod, and teleported them to the notorious beach, the beach of his nightmares and memories.

The remains of the plane were still there, abandoned. It had been stripped of every technology and was just a shell now. The remains of the submarine were there, also stripped. Both hulked there on the beach like sun-baked skeletons, rusting quietly away.

“Not here,” Erik said. “Where else?”

“I know of a possibility,” Azazel said, and teleported them again.

The room they arrived in was cold and lit only with the faintest hint of a bluish light, and the smell of suppressed rot. Erik felt for the light switch with his power, and flipped it on, and the room was flooded with light.

He stared at the stainless steel tables in the room, each with a body on it.

“Here,” said Azazel, and Erik followed him to one of the metal beds.

He looked down at the slack face of Shaw, grim and grotesque in death.

“You are sure of this?” Azazel whispered, his dark eyes searching out Erik.

“No,” Erik said. “But I’m doing it anyway.” He reached out a hand and touched the cold skin. _Break, break, break,_ he thought. There was already damage present, Shaw’s body having gone through an autopsy, but Erik wanted to make sure of it. Charles’ injury was low, but Shaw’s would be so much higher.

Then, Erik began to heal. He healed the autopsy wounds and he healed the decomposition. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he gasped for breath. He healed the cells, and he healed the connections, setting everything to right, and finally, he healed the brain. The raw, gaping wound in the grey matter—the wound he had put there with the slow, inescapable trajectory of the coin.

Finally, he was done, and Erik slumped back, exhausted, and let himself fall gracelessly to the floor. He stared up at Azazel. “Was it enough?” he asked.

Azazel looked sickened and awed, but nodded. “He breathes,” he said.

After a minute, Erik found he had the strength to stand again, and he did. Feeling like Frankenstein, and that he had just created his monster, he looked down at Shaw. Shaw opened his eyes, and they were as blank and empty as the sky.

“Take us away from here,” Erik said. “There is an institution, we will lodge him there.”

Given Shaw’s mutant talent for aging slowly, Erik was sure that he would continue to exist at least as long as Charles did, and then Erik would return to finish the job. Until then, he would be free of Shaw’s ghost. He did not know what other ghost would come to claim the burden, but whomever it was, could never be as treacherous and horrible as Shaw. If it was, Erik would deal with that ghost, too.

With the faintest of hopes, and if fair winds were with him, he would be able to touch again, and to finally heal, to make up for his tragic judgment of error on the beach. Erik closed his eyes, and bent his head, grateful, and burdened, and dizzy with what he had just accomplished.

“I hope to never be your enemy,” Azazel said softly just before teleporting them away.

Erik wondered if it weren’t worse, being his friend.


End file.
